The Exiles of Sirion
by Elf Eye
Summary: Elrond's story from his capture by Maglor at the Mouths of Sirion.
1. Chapter 1

**_Windwraith_**** suggested I attempt backstories on such characters as Glorfindel, Erestor, and Elrond.**** I'm not going to abandon Legolas, of course—_Dragonfly_, there should be a draft coming your way in the next couple of days!—but I thought it would be interesting to take up _Windwraith's_ suggestion. This story is therefore about the childhood of Elrond.**

The Mouths of Sirion had been chosen as a place of exile, but it was the only home Elros and Elrond had ever known, and the young Elves found it beautiful. They did not like being kept inside when they could be exploring the verdant forests and glades that swept back from the banks of the silver water, but, although young, they were of an age when it was necessary that they spend some time each day at their books—or so said their parents! Restlessly—the day was exceptionally lovely—they sat one morning at a table in the library under the gaze of a Tutor who was patient but also strict. From time to time the elflings would raise their heads to look longingly toward the window of their retreat on the second floor of the Hall, but always the Tutor would catch their eyes and nod toward the tomes that lay open upon the table. Obediently, they would return to their studies.

This morning, however, it became exceedingly difficult to pay attention to the chronicles that they were perusing. At this time of day, the Hall usually was quiet, but the Tutor and his charges began to hear shouts from afar. As the shouts drew nearer, Elrond and Elros found it harder and harder to concentrate and stole more and more surreptitious glances toward the window. At last even the Tutor had to concede that, under the circumstances, studying was becoming difficult. "I will see what causes this uproar," the Tutor declared brusquely, "and I will put an end to it. But be sure that you do not abandon your studies in my absence! I shall examine you upon my return."

In another room in the Hall, Elwing, mother of Elros and Elrond, had heard the noise as well, and she feared what it might portend. She was closeted with several councilors who were advising her in the absence of her husband Eärendil. "Go you," she said to one of them, "and see who it is disturbs this place of peace." The councilor hastened from the room, but almost immediately he returned, running more swiftly than he had when he had departed. He burst into the room without any attempt at ceremony and cried out his news.

"My Lady, we are under attack—and the enemy force is greatly superior to our own! Already our outlying guard has been driven back, and our foes begin to make entry into the inner compound."

Elwing leaped to her feet. "My sons! I must go to my sons."

The councilors drew swords and formed a tight circle around Elwing as they hurried through the Hall. But the library was far away, and they had to traverse many corridors. Before they were even halfway to the chamber, the enemy had breached the Hall itself. Turn after turn the company took as they tried to evade their foes, but at last it became apparent that many hostile warriors stood between them and the library. In one narrow corridor they confronted a fierce band of them, and little by little they were forced back.

"Lady Elwing," panted one of the councilors, "we must retreat lest our enemies come behind us and cut off our escape. We will not remain standing long if they do!"

"I cannot leave my sons!" cried Elwing.

"My Lady, you can do nothing for them. You cannot reach them! Too many foes stand in the way. You must take the Silmaril and seek Eärendil. That is the only course of action open to you."

"They will be slain!"

"Eru grant that they are not. The anger of the sons of Fëanor runs deep, but one would hope not so deep that they would slay children."

Weeping, Elwing allowed her councilors to usher her out of the Hall. So it was that the news of the attack would at length be brought to Eärendil, with results that would change the history of Middle-earth.

But Elrond and Elros knew nothing of this. For a time they attempted to do their Tutor's bidding, gazing fixedly at their books even though they found it impossible to piece out the words on the pages before them. But as they vainly tried to concentrate on their studies, they began to hear metal clashing upon metal. They had never seen battle, but they knew the sound of swordplay, for they had spent many hours loitering about the armory, watching as older Elves perfected their skills. At last they abandoned all effort at studying. The two crept to the window and peered out.

As they watched, they saw their Tutor run into view. Immediately behind him sprinted a servant clutching a sword.

"He is not one of the warriors," said Elros, puzzled. "He mends the library fire and mixes ink for our Tutor. How came he by a sword?"

Hard on the heels of the servant, strange warrior Elves swarmed into view. The servant turned and brandished his sword at them. Whilst Elros and Elrond, horrified, watched, one of the stranger Elves drew his bow and shot the servant where he stood. The sword clattered to the ground. Swiftly the Tutor bent down and seized it and turned to face his pursuers. Now the elflings understood how the servant came by his sword. He had retrieved from the side of a dead Elf in a desperate attempt to guard his master's back. Now the Tutor would do the same in an effort to keep the stranger Elves from entering the library. It was an attempt as valiant as it was doomed. Within seconds, the Tutor lay dead beside his servant.

Elros drew back from the window and ran for the door. "I want to find Nana!" he cried.

Elrond came after him and seized his arm. "Gwadur-nîn," he whispered urgently. "We must stay here. You saw what happened to our Tutor. It is not safe outside."

They heard a pounding upon the door below, followed by the sound of splintering wood.

"Soon it will not be safe within, neither," whimpered Elros.

Elrond quickly looked about the room. "We must hide!" he exclaimed. Dragging Elros by the hand, he ran to a corner of the chamber and pushed his brother behind a bookcase. He scrambled after him, and then the two of them sat silently huddled together. They no longer heard the clash of metal upon metal, but shouts and the noise of marching feet reverberated throughout the Hall. Doors were thrown open, their panels thrust violently against walls. Drawers were yanked out and from the sound of it their contents dumped upon the floor. At last the two young Elves heard footsteps come into the library itself. Someone was walking about, stopping and opening drawings and chests. A second pair of feet joined the first.

"What have you found?"

"Nothing, Lord Maglor."

"In all these books you have found nothing?"

"I meant, my Lord, that I have found only books."

"Only books? You speak as if books were of no matter. They are a treasure in themselves. We shall take the gold and the silver and the jewels, but the books as well."

A hand—Maglor's hand—drew a book from the shelf above Elros and Elrond's heads. The two young Elves squirmed closer to the floor.

"This is a beautiful volume. Great care has been taken with the illuminations."

The volume was replaced, and another removed.

"Yes," mused Maglor, "great treasures may be found in libraries." Suddenly a hand shot through the space left by the book. Its fingers seized Elros' tunic. Elros yelped. Elrond, for his part, grabbed the hand and bit it. The hand released Elros and withdrew. The two elflings threw their arms around each other as Maglor came around the corner of the bookcase. He was nursing his hand, but he looked amused.

"Two small but doughty warriors. Armed with pen knives, no doubt. What is it that Men say—'the pen is mightier than the sword'? But not the pen knife, I think. You had better yield, young masters."

Elros looked at Elrond. Elrond nodded. They loosed their grips one upon the other and rose to their feet. Maglor beckoned at them to draw near. Reluctantly, the two did so. When they reached him, he put a hand under each chin and titled back their heads, examining them closely.

"Brothers, I see. Twins, I think. Is that not so?"

"Yes," said Elrond. It was useless to deny what was so obvious.

"Male twins, and dwelling in the household of Eärendil and Elwing. You would be Elrond and Elros, would you not?"

Elrond nodded.

"I am told that Eärendil is at sea. Yet you would not have been abandoned. Where is your mother?"

Both elflings remained silent.

"Do you not wish to be reunited with your mother? If you tell me where she is, I will take you to her."

Elrond twisted his head free and took a step back.

"Elros," he said, "come away from him."

Maglor drew his hand from Elros' chin and gestured for him to join his brother.

"Your mother will be found with or without your help. These Halls are being searched even as we speak."

"Why do you want her?" Elros asked, his voice trembling.

"She possesses something that my brothers and I wish to reclaim."

"What is this thing?"

"A jewel. Merely a jewel."

"Our mother has many jewels," Elrond said fiercely. "Take one and be gone!"

"Ah, but not any jewel will do, young Master—is it Elrond or Elros?"

The twins again exchanged glances.

"I am Elrond; he is Elros," Elrond said at last.

"Thank you, Master Elrond," Maglor said. "And I am Maglor."

"We already know that. He addressed you so," said Elrond, pointing at the other Elf, who had been watching the exchange whilst fingering his sword.

"But do you know who, in fact, I am?"

"He called you a Lord."

"And aren't you the least bit curious as to my father?"

"You know _our_ father," Elrond said with a show of carelessness. "I suppose it won't hurt to know _yours_."

"My father was Fëanor."

Both elflings blanched. Young as they were, they had heard of Fëanor. Or, to be more precise, they had heard of the Sons of Fëanor.

Elrond recovered first.

"You and your brothers slew our grandfather Dior," he said accusingly. "You attacked Doriath for no good reason."

"To recover a stolen Silmaril, that is no good reason?"

"Our mother's Ada did not steal it!"

"Nevertheless, he had it in his keeping. If he had surrendered the jewel wrought by my father, there would have been no trouble."

"He was safeguarding it at the behest of Lúthien."

Maglor shrugged. "Why am I arguing with an elfling, and a captive one at that? What you think does not matter."

"It will matter some day," Elrond said bravely.

"If there is a 'some day'," Maglor said warningly.

Elros seized Elrond's tunic and tugged upon it. "Elrond," he whispered anxiously, "perhaps you shouldn't make him angry. As he has said, we are prisoners."

"Your brother is very wise. You had better listen to him," suggested Maglor. Now he was smiling a little. "Ah, Maedhros," he said then, turning to an Elf who had just entered the room. "Have you completed your search of the Halls?"

This new Elf looked very like Maglor, but he was not smiling. He glowered at the two elflings before answering Maglor.

"Yes, we have completed the search."

"What of Elwing?" Maglor asked eagerly. Elrond and Elros again clutched each other tightly. What had become of their mother?

"She has escaped," growled Maedhros.

"And the Silmaril?"

"She bore it away with her."

Maglor slammed his hand upon the shelf, knocking several books to the floor. He did not spare them a glance.

"There is more, brother," Maedhros continued, again glowering at Elrond and Elros. "Amras has fallen."

"My youngest brother," whispered Maglor, laying a hand upon the hilt of his sword and gripping it hard. "Amrod's twin." Now he, too, glowered at Elrond and Elros, who held each other even more tightly.

"Who slew him?" demanded Maglor, finally tearing his eyes away from grandsons of Dior.

"One of Elwing's guard, who held us back as Elwing fled. Amras overcame him at the last, but they fell together, each pierced through the body by the other's sword."

"Amras' slayer is dead, then?"

"Yes."

Maglor eased his grip on the hilt.

"Then Amras has already been avenged," he said thoughtfully, "and by his own hand."

"Avenged?" said Maedhros, disbelievingly. "But the sons of Elwing still live!"

"True," said Maglor slowly. Again he gazed upon Elrond and Elros, and as he did so, he thought of all that he had lost. "My brothers Celegorm, Curufin, Caranthir," he murmured, "slain at Menegroth. Slain by Dior's folk. And now Amras. Slain by one of Elwing's meiny"

Maglor looked the elflings up and down. "They are twins," he said softly. "Amrod and Amras were twins."

Maglor began to pace the room. Maedhros watched him keenly. "They are the sons of our foes," he declared, his face a mask of ruthlessness.

Maglor stopped pacing and looked at his brother. "Yet in and of themselves they are innocent of any offense against us or our kin."

The elf-lord resumed pacing.

"We are sworn to recover the Silmarils," he said at last, "and that is all. We have taken no oath that requires us to harm any Elf unconnected with its theft—and certainly no oath that would require us to harm a youngling!"

"They will not always be young," Maedhros warned darkly.

"As to that, even if we do not slay them today, that does not mean we cannot slay them tomorrow."

Some of the tension left Maedhros' body.

"That is true, brother. I had not thought of that. Very well. If your conscience is too nice to permit that they be slain out of hand, the matter can keep until another day. For I will not forget that they are the grandsons of Dior and the sons of Elwing!"

He turned and glared at Elros and Elrond one last time before stalking from the room.


	2. Chapter 2: Crumbs

**Folks, I haven't abandoned Legolas or the _Parallel_ _Quest_. I do have a chapter _almost_ ready to go to _Dragonfly_ for beta reading. Honest. After all, do you really think I'd ever abandon Orla—uh, Legolas?**

**_Windwraith_****: Glad you liked the first chapter, and hope the tale continues to please you! You will find that this chapter begins the back story of yet another familiar Elf.**

**_Mearas_: Yes, there will be a lot more to the story. After all, I am starting with Elrond as an elfling, and he has a looong history ahead of him in Middle-earth. Elros will not be 'under' Elrond, but I do need to find some way to differentiate the two to explain why Elros will choose human mortality and Elrond elvan immortality.**

_Emrys_: I think Tolkien chose to keep matters on a heroic or mythic level rather than on a 'human' one. The wonderful thing about fanfiction, though, is that it allows you to explore elements that the original author left unexplored, but without undercutting any of the original story. The different approaches can be complementary or at least congruent. 

**_Dragonfly_: Thank you for catching that mistype of Maedhros for Amras. I can never seem to get away from that kind of error. I'll be sure to correct that. Fortunately, ffnet has made it a lot easier to make such corrections.**

**_Anonymous_: Yes, Maglor has some kindness still, at least when compared to his brother Maedhros. **

**As usual, this chapter may contain quotations from LOTR, either book or movie version.**

**Chapter 2: Crumbs**

Maedhros had departed the library, content that the sons of Elwing should live on for a little while. When he had gone, Maglor gave Elros and Elrond into the custody of the Elf who remained, one Miluimagor by name. "Keep them safe, but do not allow them any opportunity to run off," he ordered before going in search of a comfortable room in which to lodge. He settled upon the chamber of Eärendil himself, and was soon joined there by his chief advisor. The two helped themselves to some very fine wine and settled themselves before a fire kindled by a frightened prisoner who was scarcely any older than Elros and Elrond themselves. This young Elf trembled when one of the logs he bore slipped from his arms and thudded upon the floor, but the victorious Elves ignored this lapse, and the young Elf slipped gratefully from the room.

"That one," said the councilor after the captive had retreated, "I had to save from Maedhros. Your brother continued to cut down the Elves within these Halls long after there was any need. Many innocents fell before his wrath. I came around a corner as he raised his sword to strike, and I stepped between him and the lad."

Maglor grimaced. "No good will come of such slaughter, but Maedhros refuses to acknowledge the truth of this. There are those who will concede that we have a right to regain the stolen Silmarils, but those same folk recoil in horror in the face of our fell deeds. Ai! We forfeit their sympathy when we commit wrongs in order to right wrongs."

"That is so," the councilor agreed, "and have you not considered that they may thus recoil when they learn that you have taken hostage the sons of Elwing?"

"Hostage? No, I do not take them for that reason, for they have no value as hostages. Such captives are of use as pledges for the good conduct of their kinsmen, to be punished or slain if those kinsmen prove false. But that cannot be the case here, for the children's kinsmen are no longer of Middle-earth. Elwing has fled to Eärendil, and I will warrant that neither will ever again be seen in Arda, for the Valar have become unwilling to permit those who forsake this land to return to it."

The councilor shook his head. "You have seized the lads to make them your servants, then. Folk will find that action no more pleasing than if you took them hostage."

"I shall not make them my servants," Maglor replied. "They will be treated as the young lords that they are. Think you: this settlement has fallen. The guardians of this place have been driven off or slain, and the sons of Elwing are in my hands. I could exile the young ones, send them into the wild, where they would fall prey to beasts or brigands. I could garrison this place and leave them here, but I cannot guarantee that they will not in the end be slain by one of our forces, eager to avenge the death of a son or a brother. I will not win praise for either choice! It seems to me, then, that I must bear them away for their own safety."

"Do you really think anyone will believe that?"

"They may come to believe it in time when they see that the young ones are not harmed."

"Perhaps, but folk may also say, 'If Maglor merely wished to see the sons of Elwing kept in safety, then, yes, he would have taken them away from Sirion—but in order to hand them over to someone not involved in this dispute."

Maglor nodded.

"That had occurred to me," he said, "but, as they must be in someone's custody, it seems to me that it would be better if I kept them near to hand. If I put great care into their fostering, they are the less likely to prove my enemies in the future."

The councilor smiled wryly. "I see. You do not act altogether out of the kindness of your heart!"

Maglor smiled back. "Is it not permissible to be kind and cunning at one and the same time?"

"I suppose the two may be congruent."

Maglor suddenly grew serious again.

"Be careful never to repeat any of this conversation to Maedhros. He is one who will assume that I keep the young ones as hostages. It were well he should continue in that belief, for as long as he thinks that the sons of Elwing may be of use, he will not press for their deaths."

The councilor nodded gravely. "True. In the presence of Maedhros, then, I shall always refer to the lads as 'hostages' or 'prisoners'."

"Thank you, my friend. The deaths of many are upon my hands. I do not want the blood of these children upon my hands as well."

While this conversation was taking place, the young ones who were the subject of it were sadly surveying the wreckage of their room. Once the heat of battle had died down, their Elf warder, Miluimagor, had not proved to be an ogre. Indeed, amongst his comrades he was generally known by the nickname 'Milui', meaning 'friendly' or 'kind'. Thus he was agreeable when the elflings asked if they might await their fate in the chamber that they had shared from birth. The elflings eagerly made for that sanctuary, for they expected to be comforted by familiar furniture and toys. "Hurry," urged Elros, seizing Milui's hand and dragging him along. They passed other warrior Elves who laughed at the sight.

"Is he your prisoner, or are you his?" merrily shouted one.

"A little bit of both, I think," Milui called back cheerfully—and honestly, too, as it would turn out.

But all cheerfulness was at an end when Elf and elflings entered the chamber. Tables and chairs had been overturned, linen stripped from beds, the contents of drawers dumped upon the floor. The wardrobe had been thrown open, and clothes and toys flung aside. Mournfully, the elflings gazed about the looted room, both of them blinking back tears. Their guard, feeling for them, grew sorrowful as well, but he shook of the mood as he endeavored to comfort them.

"It is true things have been tossed about," he said, "but when everything has been put to rights, likely the room won't look too bad." He bent and picked up a chair and then looked encouragingly at the elflings. Elrond knelt upon the floor and began to draw together scattered toys. Elros picked up garment after garment, folding each and carefully replacing it in the wardrobe. Their guard made up the beds and righted the rest of the furniture.

As Elrond and Elros tidied up and sorted their possessions, they soon realized that, for all the room's disarray, very few items had actually been stolen. They were, after all, elflings, and they did not possess the sort of objects that marauders would have found tempting. No jewels, no golden treasures—nothing but child-sized tunics, story books, and toy animals, both wooden and stuffed. It is true that they each owned a small bow and a miniature sword, but such weapons were of no interest to warrior Elves, and they had been casually flung aside when the looters came upon them. Elrond found them and lovingly returned them to their places in the corners of the room.

After awhile, the elflings found that their room looked much as it had before the attack, and their spirits rose a little. Milui noted their change of mood and was glad.

"You are brave lads," he said approvingly, "and I'll warrant no harm will come to you if you continue to behave with courage. Folk would say 'twere a pity to harm such lads."

Elros and Elrond found themselves smiling shyly at the guard, and he returned the smile whole-heartedly. How was this possible, Elrond wondered, that an Elf who served the sons of Fëanor could be such a decent sort? The notion puzzled him exceedingly, but his thoughts were interrupted by the grumbling of Elros' stomach. Milui laughed.

"As I am charged with keeping you safe," he grinned, "I suppose that extends to feeding you. I had better scrounge up some grub, then. Will you promise to stay here? It is for your own good! Wandering about, you might come to harm."

The twins promised that they would not stir from the room. Although young, they had seen and heard enough to understood the import of the guard's words: if they ventured forth unprotected, there were some who would slay them—not the least Maedhros! For the time being, Maglor's Elf was the guarantor of their survival.

Having been assured of their obedience, Milui left in search of the kitchen. As he traversed the Hall, he discovered that many of his comrades had turned from sacking to celebrating. Like Maglor, they were indulging themselves in wine that had been liberated from pantries and cellars. Unlike Maglor, they were not moderate in their drinking. Most Elves are little affected by wine, especially the weak varieties brewed by Men; the wines of Sirion, however, were very strong, and the warrior Elves were already wound up with the excitement of battle and victory. Wine and euphoria combined is a powerful drug, and some of the Elves were swaggering about arrogantly, boasting and mistreating their frightened prisoners. Most of the mistreatment was confined to taunting, but Milui came across one warrior who was prodding a terrified young Elf with his sword. This young Elf was, in fact, the same one who had earlier been tending to the fire in the chamber commandeered by Maglor. Milui hesitated. Was it possible that the inebriated Elf would do serious harm to the prisoner? If that were the case, he could not simply walk on and leave the young Elf to his fate.

"Here, young rascal," he bellowed to the prisoner, putting on a show of ill-temper, "you are to carry burdens for me. Stop larking about and come away from there!"

Amused, the drunken Elf put up his sword. Carefully, the young Elf slipped past him and quickly followed Milui down the corridor.

"What is your name?" Milui asked him.

"Erestor, Master."

Milui grimaced.

"I suppose you _had_ better call me 'Master', at least publicly, that is; it will keep you out of trouble with the other Elves. But my given name is Miluimagor, and you may call me that name when no one else is about. Do you know where the kitchen is?"

"Yes—Miluimagor."

"Good. Lead me there, then."

Erestor knew the quickest way to the kitchen, and they soon reached that place. Unlike other areas of the Hall, it had not been looted—perhaps because the invaders knew that doing so would make it difficult for them to procure fresh food and hot meals. Nor had they molested the cooks and skivvies in any way, and these folk, grateful for their protected status, were now hard at work cooking for their new masters. Milui requisitioned food and utensils for four, and he and his 'servant' were soon on their way back to the chamber where Elros and Elrond patiently waited.

Patiently, yet not silently. As they waited, they discussed their plight.

"When will Ada and Nana come back for us?" asked Elros.

"Ada has been gone a very long time," said Elrond thoughtfully. "I heard one of the councilors tell Nana that she ought to consider whether he _would_ come back."

"That's not true!"

"I am afraid that it is," said Elrond sadly.

Elros was horrified. "You, you don't suppose, now Nana's gone, that she, she—won't come back, neither!"

Frightened, the two elflings stared one at the other. Whatever were they to do if neither their Adar nor their Naneth returned for them?

"I think," said Elrond after a bit, "that we had better be very polite to Lord Maglor."

"And Lord Maedhros, too!"

"I suppose so," said Elrond gloomily, "although do you really think it will do any good? He doesn't like us at all!"

"True," agreed Elros, "but Lord Maglor might be angry if we were disrespectful to his kinsman."

"I hadn't thought of that. Very well. I shallbe _exceedingly_ polite to Lord Maedhros!"

Milui came back just then, accompanied by his newly acquired assistant.

"Erestor!" cried Elros happily.

"Ah, you are friends?" said Milui, pleased.

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Elrond. "Erestor is the son of our Tutor—oh!" He fell suddenly silent.

"Do you know where my father is?" asked Erestor eagerly. "I have not seen him since the attack. I wanted to go to the library to search for him, but I was not permitted."

Both Elros and Elrond were now looking at the floor. Erestor faltered in his speech.

"My father?" he said questioningly.

Elrond took a deep breath and decided to meet his friend's eye. "Erestor, your father was slain in the courtyard below the library. He was felled by an arrow."

Milui had been standing stiffly by, but he relaxed a little at Elrond's words. 'Eru be praised', he said to himself, 'that I do not carry a bow! There is blood on my hands this day, but at least not the blood of this young one's father." Milui supposed that among the Elves he had slain, there was at least one who had a son, but he was grateful that he did not have to face the orphan. 'I may be brave in battle', he mused, 'but that kind of bravery I lack'.

As for Elrond and Elros, they suddenly felt much less sorry for themselves than they had only a few minutes earlier. They were captives, yes, and their lives were in peril, but at least they knew that, somewhere, their parents still lived.

"Erestor," said Elrond softly, "I am sorry for your loss. Your father was a good man who always treated us kindly. He behaved as if he were our father as well as our tutor. Erestor, we are brothers in your loss, and we would be your brothers in deed. Will you stay here with us?"

"If I am permitted," Erestor said in a low voice.

"As to that, I shall see that you are not parted," said Milui. "Upon my sword, I swear it to you."

"You do not swear upon your bow?" Erestor said warily.

"I don't possess a bow. I was such a poor archer that the Weapon's Master took my bow away from me, lest I pepper the backsides of my own comrades."

The elflings stared at him. An Elf who couldn't shoot straight? Elros giggled. Elrond was himself trying not to grin, but he looked nervously at his brother. Was it appropriate to giggle on a day such as this, when so many had died? His eyebrows shot up. Now it was Milui's turn to stare. Folk in the Hall had always said of Elrond that he was born with an eyebrow quirked, but Milui had never been treated to a demonstration of the magical mobility of that feature of the lad's face. The older Elf began to laugh, attempted to stifle himself, and ended up racked by a coughing fit. Alarmed, all three elflings began to pound upon his back with their fists. "No—wait—stop!" gasped Milfui. "I'm alright—really I am! Saes! No more! Saes!" By now he was laughing in earnest, as were the elflings, but all laughter ceased when the door was violently flung open. The edge splintered where it struck the wall, and Maedhros strode into the room. His sword he had partially withdrawn from its scabbard.

"So you would strike your guard," he snarled at the elflings.

"Oh, no, my Lord," said Milui hastily. "I was choking, and they were pounding upon my back to restore my breathing. It was one of those biscuits, my Lord," he continued, pointing at the tray of food. "I took too great a bite, and the piece became stuck. But it has gone down now, and I am quite alright. I should have died, though, if these young ones had not helped me to clear my windpipe."

Maedhros allowed his sword to slip back into its hanger, but he did not look convinced. "Why would they bother to save the life of an enemy?" he growled. "_I_ wouldn't. You there," he continued, gripping Elrond by the tunic, "why would you help this Elf? Perhaps you expect something in return, eh? Is that the way of it? Tell me the truth," he demanded, shaking Elrond with each word.

"I am your prisoner, my Lord," Elrond said as carefully as he could through clattering teeth. "I must behave correctly toward you and yours. I should not want to be blamed if something happened to my guard."

This reply answered to the sort of reasoning that Maedhros himself would engage in, and so the elf-lord was assuaged a little. Releasing his hold on Elrond, he shoved him away so that the elfling stumbled and fell into the arms of his brother. Then Maedhros turned and stalked toward the damaged door. When he reached it, he paused and looked back. "You are quite right," he taunted. "You are prisoners and had best keep that in mind at all times. I shall be watching to see that you do. And if you do not, well—" His hand again went to his sword hilt. Sneering, he swaggered through the door and into the corridor.

After he had left, Elf and elflings stood silent a little while. At last Milui stirred. "You are prisoners, yes, but folk first, and folk must eat. Let us not let this good food grow any cooler. Besides, if I am not to be made a liar, I must devour a biscuit and cough a little bit as the crumbs go down. You needn't pound upon my back, however," he added hastily, "as you have already done so!"

These words brought wan smiles to the faces of the elflings, and in company with Milui they sat down and ate their supper. If it was a subdued repast, at least it was a satisfying one. By the time they had finished, the sun was casting long shadows. All were weary, Elf and elfling alike, and they made ready to sleep. Milui and Erestor began to prepare pallets for themselves upon the floor, but Elros and Elrond protested. "We can share one bed," they told their erstwhile guard, "and you and Erestor can share the other." Milui saw that the beds were quite large enough to allow such an arrangement, and so he agreed. Their parents being so far away, Elrond and Elros were comforted by the nearness of one another. As for Erestor, at first he was not altogether at ease, having 'gotten into bed with the enemy', so to speak. But he was worn out from the emotions and events of the day, and he soon fell asleep. During the night, he whimpered a little, dreaming perhaps of his father, lost to him that day, or mayhap his mother, lost years earlier to a band of Orcs. Milui had been lying awake, and he uttered soft words to the elfling. Then Erestor fell into a deep sleep, and at last Milui allowed himself to drift off.

When Milui awoke in the morning, he found that sometime during the night Erestor had rolled up against him and now tightly clutched his tunic with one hand. "All his grief, the grief of many, has come to pass over a jewel," the Elf murmured to himself as he gently unclasped Erestor's fingers from his tunic. "It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing. Such a little thing." Shaking his head, hoping that future generations would not suffer in the same manner, Milui set out for the kitchen to fetch breakfast for himself and his young 'prisoners'. 'At least those three', he vowed to himself, 'I shall endeavor to protect from further harm. I have shed too much blood; by Ilúvatar, I shall make amends for my sins by protecting these children'.

It was an oath uttered with the best of intentions. Of course, as the Sons of Fëanor had already discovered, even a well-intended vow can have the most untoward of consequences.


End file.
